


The Sun & Moon

by chrissy2



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-01
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-06 22:43:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17948531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrissy2/pseuds/chrissy2
Summary: Brian and Roger are Cancer and Leo, water and fire, their planets the moon and the sun, opposites in nearly every way. But there is some ground. They are still neighbors in the stars.Brian and Roger's complex relationship over the years.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing and get no money.

**I**

It was a wonder how Brian and Roger even saw eye to eye for their first band together, way back when they were young. One might say that they were just stubbornly holding onto whatever they had going together, in any way, until this whole rock band thing sorted itself out. Or not.

But in the recklessness and persistence and passion of their college ages, there was no "or not"; though Brian no doubt had a nagging voice of cynicism at the back of his mind that he battled with on a daily basis. ("You guys don't even have a real name for your band." "Your family's poor enough already. Like you need to burden them any more with this impractical life.") And how does Brian deal with that overbearing voice in his head? By playing his guitar and writing songs, of course.

Roger wants women. Brian wants to be creative. Roger wants something that can settle his lion fire in a productive way. Brian wants to break out of his crab shell. Roger is spirited. Brian is sensitive.

Brian is respectful the first time they meet up, for Roger's tryout, even though they may not understand each other's patterns and musical quirks. Their tastes are similar, though. That was something. In the end, they were both impressed with each other. And they really didn't have a choice. They were each other's best options at the time, and they just so happened to stick around. Brian needed a drummer and Roger really wanted out of the group he was already in.

 

**II**

Roger pretty much knew from the very beginning that Freddie was gay. I mean,  _come on._ The way he spoke, the way he kept his hair, the way he dressed. It was so in your face, how could you not see it.

And Brian, fucking Brian, he's so literal, so politically correct, so scientific. "I won't accept that he is until he says it. It's none of our business, anyways. We don't understand him as much as he does."

Not even a little curious?

"He has a girlfriend. He has Mary." Maybe he doesn't know he's actually gay. Or he's in denial. "Maybe. But that's none of our concern."

"Yes," Roger remembers smirking, "but - when you go home, and you're lying in bed, you're racing mind is going to keep you up - and somewhere in the back of that racing mind, among all the other questions you ponder about day in and day out, is that one question: 'But what if Freddie is gay?'"

"People are more complex than you think, Rog. You never know what's going on in their minds, mine included. And I don't know what goes on in yours. I will not judge someone based on shallow stereotypes."

God, he was no fun.

Roger found himself thinking the same for John, though the bassist wasn't as flamboyant or effeminate as their lead singer. It didn't help that the two were so friendly, like two giggling school girls whispering secrets or making one of those stupid little lists that girls love making.

It's really just a joke at this point, to make Brian get frustrated with Roger's "shallow-mindedness". It was fun to watch him huff and puff. It reminded Roger of a boyhood friend that he used to prank all the time just to see him get annoyed. He usually annoyed him by stealing his school supplies, or stealing his bag, his shoes. It was just the funniest damn thing to Roger. He annoyed this kid until the teachers made him stop. It was a form of bullying.

 

**III**

Roger's almost fucking relieved when Brian starts fighting him, breaking out into another side of him that Roger had never seen. It was refreshing when the guitarist wasn't so bloody sheepish or polite or passive all the time. It was exciting to hear his timid voice become rough, to hear him growl. His tone matched his intense eyes in those times.

They fight over songs and tone and context, but they quickly get over it. In the end, they know they won't change each other's minds. That was one of the few traits Leo and Cancer had in common. They were both really stubborn.

To Roger, making music (or any other form of art) is about having fun. Roger likes fast cars and other pleasures material things can give. He likes making jokes. He likes sex. To Brian, however, song writing is about expressing deep emotion. In Brian's case, it's typically pain. He writes about losing his childhood cat, the angst of adolescence, the dread of becoming-of-age, the loneliness of adulthood, anxiety, depression, distrust, lovesickness.

Freddie has a talent for balancing out both humor and fun and pain, and that is probably how he is able to stand as the peacemaker between them during their little fights, laughing away at their bickering and calling them "children".

_Children, please._

Thank god they all seem to get pissed off at each other in a miraculous balance. It was always either Brian against Roger, or Roger against Freddie, or Freddie against Brian, and not three of them starting a fight or all four. John almost never got agitated, which was a relief. John served as the line that should not be crossed. If John ever actually got worked up, something was definitely up, and it would make the other three stop whatever they were doing to really think, made them calm down.

One of them always stood between the two fuming bandmates with patience and humility until they calmed down or let all the energy out through the music. In the decades that they worked together, there was probably only one time all four of them were beyond angry with each other, to the point of nearly splitting up for good.

 

**IV**

Over the years, Roger thought of other ways to...settle his rows with Brian; be it an attempt to make the guitarist angrier, to try and turn the situation into something fun, or other.

As these times become more and more frequent, Roger learns that there is something else that he finds fun. Whenever Brian's tone of voice shifts from a polite gentleman to a growling fiend, whenever his gentle eyes turn dark, his eyebrows furrowing - Roger's heart races. Maybe it's the thrill of the competition.

Brian is a big time touch-me-not, very much like a pinching crab or one of his traumatised hedgehogs that he rescues, a softie with a tough or prickly exterior, and any kind of physical contact from Roger - a surprise pinch on the arse, a surprise hug from behind, a kiss on the cheek, the lips - has him completely flustered. "One of these days, you're going to piss off the wrong person, Rog. They won't find it charming that you invade their space and touch them without their consent. It could ruin your reputation. It could ruin Queen. Watch it. People are more than just pieces of meat."

Roger shrugged off the little speech at the time, but for a number of nights after, those words did bother him. He meant no harm. He just liked having fun.

 

**V**

There's a complete one-eighty turn when Brian starts reacting differently to Roger's touching. It was just them in the recording room one day. Er, night. Twilight. Those early, early hours in the morning. They were leaning over all the buttons. Roger threw himself over and kissed the guitarist hard on the lips. The kiss lasts longer than his usual surprise kisses, way longer.

Because Roger is unable to pull away. He tries, but Brian has them locked together, his teeth burrowed in Roger's bottom lip. His hold on Roger is hard and possessive. Right now, he has control. And he is the one that let's go, their lips finally separating with a pop.

Roger stumbles back, a suspicious after taste of iron. When he brings his fingers up to his bottom lip, there seems to be a shade of red there, but it's very faint.

When he looks back at the guitarist, speechless for the first time - no snarky comeback - he sees that Brian has his lips up in a smirk.

Oh, hell no. Like he's going to let him win.

Roger pounces.


	2. Chapter 2

**I**

There were only a handful of times the fiery Leo became depressive in the years and years of Queen. The first of those times was during Brian's health scare, when he was diagnosed with hepatitis halfway through their first American tour and was forced to go home for treatment. Roger didn't have to go through the humiliation of sneaking over to a hospital to get himself checked. Freddie, John, and him were all checked in the end, a better-safe-than-sorry note from their managers and doctors, and the tests were negative. Brian caught the disease through a shitty doctor reusing a dirty needle. Any of them could have had it.

Roger wasn't so down for the first half of the sickness. He didn't think it was a big deal. He was such a proud idiot, blind to consequence and possible tragedy. Brian's condition got worse before it got better. It was called gangrene: a horrible redness and swelling down one of his arms, threatening to blacken. There was a debate about whether or not there was going to be an amputation.

And there wasn't a damn thing Roger could say or do to make Brian feel better. He didn't know what would be worse: Brian not being able to play again, or death. Brian being a shell of himself, or not seeing Brian ever again.

The possibility of something truly bleak finally sunk in. Brian did not deserve this. Why did this happen to him. When Roger learned what this could mean, he went home that night and punched the wall until his knuckles bled. He was one of the sweetest people that Roger had ever met. He was the guy that would pick up helpless and wiggling worms off of the sidewalk and put them back into the grass because his huge, bleeding heart felt for them. This was the guy that shed tears for an animal that was run over by a car, or when they saw a box of puppies or kittens needing homes. Or when they fucking saw a truck holding chickens, on their way to a factory to be slaughtered.

And then there was Roger The Asshole. The guy that sometimes threw pieces of steak in Brian's face when he couldn't take the guitarist's criticism.

In Roger's mind, Brian was the last person to ever deserve something like this, and he feels something that the drummer can only describe as something similar to survivor's guilt. With how much he slept around, with how many women he brought onto the bus or back to the hotels with them, with how much he played people's hearts and seemed to get off on pissing people off all the time, you'd think he'd be the one to get hepatitis.

 

**II**

Over time, the gangrene finally fades away, and his strength slowly returns. When Brian does recover (though his movements were still a bit strained, his voice hoarse, and the color was still in the process of returning to his face) and all is well once again, it takes a while for Roger's spirit to come back. His most unusual melancholy sticks out like a sore thumb. He doesn't talk as much as he used to. He lingers away from the group. He doesn't smile as often. There are no jokes or pranks or annoyances from him. This little hiccup in Roger's personality did not effect the flow of creativity and recording (in fact, there were zero fights for this album), but it was still incredibly weird and out of place.

After about two full weeks of Roger's isolation and brooding, Brian finally asks him what's wrong. Because this is just too weird. Sure, Roger was way easier to work with when he wasn't being a proud pain in the ass, but his liveliness was a part of their process. Brian and John were the yin, and Freddie and Roger were the yang. He was apart of the spark, the light, the extroversion.

Brian and him are alone for this - back in the quiet, twilight hours of the empty studio once again, on the sofa at the back wall, beers on the little table - for them to be vulnerable and sappy. Roger had a feeling mother hen Freddie put him up to this.

"We all want Roger back," the guitarist finally says when Roger does not give an answer to what his deal has been the past couple of weeks, "even if he is a pain."

If the drummer had been his usual self, he might have smirked with Brian over that last bit, or threw back an insult, playful or competitive. But tonight he just sighs: "I don't know. Maybe I've just been out of sorts. Or just tired."

Really? He couldn't just say it?

It's Brian that surprises him this time. It's not quick. It's a slow, confusing burn, starting with those calloused fingers reaching over to brush some of those blonde hairs out of his face. The competitive side of Roger momentarily comes back when the guitarist does this. Not to throw out an insult or some kind of sassy comment - but for the hint of suspicion bubbling up in him.

Brian is not a touchy person. Why was he doing this? To lower his guard?

Roger shys away from the touch, his eyes downward. Another form of confusion is bubbling within him, to the point of almost boiling, and he can't figure out what feeling it is. He's so caught up in trying to figure out how to respond that he barely process the rushing blur before him - Brian leaning up and kissing him very quickly, very hard.

Burn, burn, burn. What is this. His chest and face feel like they are lighting up. Roger feels like he can't breathe, and a part of him doesn't care. It feels like he might be sick, but at the same time, it feels like he may never be sick again. Each time Brian comes back for another breathtaking kiss, another nimble, his hands now tangled in Roger's hair - desperate, possessive - that sickness or enlightenment grows bigger.

Finally, the older man breaks away with a sigh, like he had waiting to do that for many years: "I miss you."

It takes a moment for Roger to process what he just said. Brian had said it so softly, the thinnest ghost of a whisper, that he could barely understand him, and they were so close now that their foreheads were touching. And when Roger's mind processes the words, his eyebrows knot together. How could he have missed him? He hadn't gone anywhere. He had visited him all the time when he was sick and Brian was with all of them now. They were practically married with how much time and money and energy they put into each other.

But it wasn't  _I've missed you._ It was  _I miss you._

Like Roger wasn't with him right now. 

"What do you mean?" Roger finally asks, his tongue and throat dry.

"It's like the sun has gone away."

When Brian said that, Roger could only scoff and shake his head, sitting up and moving to the end of the sofa. What kind of shit is that. Why couldn't he just tell Roger straight up and not get all poetic on him.

"Oh, come on, man," Roger smiles. "What are you talking about."

Brian shifts close to Roger again, following him to his end of the sofa. He raises a hand and Roger finds himself hunching into himself with embarrassment. The heat in his chest and face was coming back. But Brian does not reach up to brush hair out of his face or to pull him in an embrace. Instead, the guitarist reaches for Roger's hand and brings it up for him to look at, thumbing over the hills of his knuckles. Crap.

"What happened?" the brunette asks, referring to the month-old wounds. 

The competitor in Roger snaps his hand away: "Nothing. It's getting late. We should go."

Brian's meak calls are ignored by the rushing Roger, who's out the door and down the hall in seconds.

 

**III**

The next day, Roger locked himself in his room. Freddie, Brian, and John each took turns standing before the wood of the door, trying to use jokes or food or the mentioning of girlfriends get him to come out.

He really did not deserve their friendship.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I say fuck a lot, pffff.

**I**

There were days in the seventies that Roger woke up and he just had to have someone touching him or challenging him, or else there was nothing worth getting out of bed for. His mid to late twenties are as empty as most others; the quarter-life crisis, they call it. Drinking just makes him sick now, and weed makes him have major panic attacks. And it wasn't like they had money for either of those things, anyway. There were all so broke, they were wearing each other's clothes. Roger would bring random people home - male or female, one person, two people, or groups - and a lot of the time, he didn't even fuck them. Half of the time, these strangers were just brought home to pointlessly invade the spaces of his bandmates and to mooch off of the little food they had left. Because fuck them, right; because they could barely pay the rent, much less a trip to the store.

Roger just needed a distraction: someone to play with, someone to argue, someone to talk to, learn about them and their background before getting bored of them and kicking them out.

Whenever he did bring his guests over to bed, Roger was pretty demanding. He wanted it rough and loud; with  _every_ sort of inconvenience to his bandmates. If they were not gone by the time he woke up, he'd tell them to get out. And if they didn't leave, because they were still too sleepy to get up or wanted to cuddle, he'd grab their stuff and throw them out the window. 

 

**II**

One can only imagine the level of emptiness he felt for when Queen was basically banished to a rusty old home in the middle of fucking nowhere to record an album, a fuck ton of money put into funding them (probably the most expensive funding at the time) and extremely high expectations to succeed their last work. Like there wasn't enough pressure.

So yeah, maybe his car idolization song wasn't exactly the thing that they were looking for. It wasn't exactly "strong enough" to fit the expectations, but for a while, it was better than what everyone else was squeezing out.

_You call me sweet_

_Like I'm some kind of cheese_

Fuck you.

At least he had a full-fledged song, and not just snips of one.

(Then, of course, Freddie seemed to have had a mental breakdown of his own from the isolation and wrote Borhap.)

So there were some laughs from the guys about Roger's song. It didn't relieve them of the pressure entirely, but it did a little. He went from Roger The Asshole to Roger The Car Fucker.

 

**III**

One twilight, Roger woke up before his eyes even opened. This new day started with that gaping hole in his chest eating away at him, not allowing him to breathe or think coherent thoughts. The voice in his head became angry and pitiful and degrading, and he sat up in his bed. He put his shoes on, slipped on his coat, and made his way downstairs. Out the door he went. It was 6 AM. 

He headed down a field and walked into lands of flat nothings for about two and a half miles, dodging chickens, waltzing around cows, and leaping over fences, not caring that he was trespassing and it might get them in trouble. Maybe the cops will be good fans of theirs and let him off the hook.

The wind is blowing, his long hairs blinding him most of his walk into nowhere with no direction in mind. Where is he going. What is he doing.

He stops to take a breather, and looks up at the cloudy sky, the sun a dulled radiance. In a few hours, the clouds will be gone and the mirrored blues of the sea will be engulfing, but for now, the world is entirely gray.

_It's like the sun has gone away._

Roger scoffs and shakes his head. Brian was educated on the stars and planets, the endless abyss itself. He might not have been poetic at all when he said that.

To his right, Roger sees a lake, and it is scary how quickly he thinks a dangerous thought. They say that drowning is the most peaceful way to go.

He then looks away from the dark waters and stares down at his shoes. He never understood the appeal of sad songs, why people listened to them when they were feeling sad. You would think it would only scratch away at the wound and make it worse. In the past, whenever he was sad, he went outside. Climbing trees and adventuring deeper into the woods behind his house used to be the most exciting thing in the world. He was outside now, and the gaping hole was still there, though more bearable than when he was lying in bed earlier. If just going outside didn't work, he'd go to a place where he could be sociable, preferably a bar. Wine makes him flirty and romantic. Liquor makes him want to start a fight.

There's nothing out here, no place for Roger to go to except the old farm house they were staying in. The nearest store was miles and miles away. 

How else was he going go deal.

_Just breathe_

_And look up at the sky_

_There are always stars_

_Even in the day_

In the past, Roger never got the appeal of sad songs and how they might help sad listeners or sad artists. But out here, running away from the voices he heard in the quiet of the farm house, Roger was full of sad lyrics that he probably had to let out or else he might suffocate.

On the other hand, when he tried to ignore the sad lyrics inside himself, he heard the voice of Brian.

_I miss you_

_It's like the sun has gone away_

Roger turns around, heading back. There are other waters he can drown in without dying.


	4. Chapter 4

**I**

When Roger sees the farm house, he somehow realizes how cold he is, hunching inward and wrapping his arms around himself. Had it always been this cold. 

With each step - strained, pushing against the wind - he gets closer and closer to his lighthouse. When he finally steps onto the crunchy gravel of the driveway, the shadow of another person - someone much taller - mirroring where Roger was standing from the otherside of the building, turned in his direction and started running towards him.

The light turns the shadows into a person. It was Brian, also hunched into himself and shivering. "Roger?" He looks and sounds confused, or possibly worried, like he had been running around for a minute or two. "Where did you go?"

"Um, a walk? I'm allowed to go for walks, am I?"

"Out in the fields?"

"Yeah?"

"That's someone else's proper--"

"Yes, I know."

"Why the little stroll?"

"'Cause I wanted to?" Now Roger's smirking.

And Brian's rolling his eyes. "Roger."

"What? I couldn't sleep."

The older man is now standing before him. He motions for them to go back inside with a nod of his head, the wind waving his curls about, and Roger follows behind. "I guess this whole thing is just really getting to us."

"Yeah."

The door was right there, a mere few crunchy, gravel steps away, but it was like they were fighting through a storm to get to it. Finally, they step inside, lock themselves back in, and the world is still.

"It'll be okay, though," Brian sighs, continuing where they left off. "Brr! Chilly out. The sun should come out soon, though. But what were you thinking? What if you got lost and froze? We wouldn't have known where to find you!"

He sounds tired. When did Brian wake up and how long had he been wandering around outside looking for him.

Roger nods, "Yeh," really more answering the first part of what Brian said. His eyes start getting very heavy. A sudden wave of exhaustion hits him. He leans down into Brian's shoulder, nose in those deep brown curls, and he can feel the guitarist gently wrapping a loose hold around Roger's waist.

A few hours ago, they were frustrated enough to kill each other, Roger throwing whatever he could pick up at everyone. Now they were embracing.

 

**II**

Roger opens his eyes before waking up this time, the windows yellow and bright. The sun is out. No angry voices. No gaping hole. 

He's warm and steady.

Was his stroll through the fields just a dream?

No.

He shakes his head, remembering how ridiculously empty and lost he felt earlier. There was nothing to be sad over. It was only temporary. It passed just fine.

He attempts to move, to adjust his position on his side. The sheets feel unusually heavy, and he struggles to shift about. Freeing an arm from beneath and reaching up for an edge of the blanket, Roger realizes that he didn't grab the blanket, but another arm, the hand at the end large and strong, but gentle.

Brian. That's when Roger realizes that this wasn't even his room. They must have dozed off.

Brian's steady, sleeping breath is warm on his upper back, and he can feel his dark curls tickling his neck, but Roger doesn't want to move.

_The moon gets its glow from the reflecting light of the sun_

Why was he thinking about this lame stuff right now, hearing it in Brian's lame voice.

 

**III**

It was right at this point that Paul really started getting on everyone's nerves; well, everyone except Freddie's. It's always the little things; like Paul's little voice, how it patronizes you. It's barely there, and other people may not be able to hear it, but for Brian and Roger and John, it was very much there.

The three of them also stood on the same ground that John treated Freddie differently. He stared at Freddie an awful lot, for long amounts of time.

It was even weirder because it was like Freddie was completely oblivious to it, like he was so caught up in his own little world that he did not notice this manager of theirs being a major creep.

 

**IV**

Roger could practically feel Brian's insides creaking and quaking when he asked who Galileo was during the repeated recordings of his ridiculously high vocals. 


	5. Chapter 5

**I**

When Freddie is finally satisfied with their recordings of Borhap, and it's all mixed and put together - the whole motherfucking six minutes of it - he dismisses everyone. Somehow the crazy cat lady still wasn't tired after all that. They all figured that he was still having a high off of the fact that he just finished his masterpiece. When Brian, Roger, and John step out of the recording room, Freddie stays behind (to stay in his state of awe, they suppose), and Paul lingers about, as always, looking at him like he's something to eat.

Meanwhile, the three of them go back to their rooms and sleep for about twelve hours.

 

**II**

The very day before they were all finally set to go back home, back to civilization, instead of packing their things, Brian and Roger spent their final hours on the floor of Brian's bedroom. The floor, because Brian learned from day one how shitty and creaky his bed was. 

Roger had been in worse places.

They hardly exchange any words at all: just a tangled mess of blankets and limbs: longing, pleading: breathless sighs, clicking lips, dazed eyes. Roger can't stop massaging his hands through Brian's beautiful curls. He never understood why he was so embarrassed of them, spending hours before school straightening it. 

And Brian's eyes look so tender, about as tender as his strokes through Roger's own hairs and down every inch of his body, like he can't get enough of how the blonde looks and feels. He looks at him so tenderly, Roger could almost say something mean to set him off, make those sweet eyes turn dark, but he's not that cruel.

But apparently, a little push isn't needed. After their tongues take another set of turns delving into each other's hot mouths, their teeth nimbling at each other's lips, Roger can feel Brian's large hand caress through his hairs again. Then, there is a slight pain. It's not terrible. A bee sting hurts more. Brian's hot tongue slowly pulls out of Roger's mouth, like a snake slithering out of its hole, and Roger realizes that Brian's caressing hand in his hair balled into a possessive grip, pulling his head back.

His eyes are dark now. He growls:  _ **"Get up."**_

And it is the sexiest shit ever.

 

**III**

Freddie and John complain about how they have to wait for Brian and Roger to pack their shit when they should have done it the day before. ("Needed more sleep. We recorded shit for a six-minute song. What did you expect." "Oh, darling. Six minutes is merciful.") Roger had to slip on one of his fluffy coats (which was actually one of Freddie's coats that they all shared) to cover his neck with all the deep marks Brian had left on him. Freddie is that one that does all their makeup, and he's going to have to wait until they get back to civilization before he asks Freddie to powder those babies up. That way, he won't have to put two and two together - that Roger got those marks when they were in the middle of nowhere, with only four people in mind who could have done that to him. (Paul would be one of those in the list of suspects, and that makes Roger shudder.)

Roger feels sad when they pull out of the driveway, his gaze fixed to the flat nothings of the world outside. But he knows he can't stay in a place like that for too long. It's for his own good, but he can't help but feel like he did not appreciate the beauty until now. They were so caught up in work, they couldn't appreciate it all.

 

**IV**

Roger is ordered to get on his knees and to hold onto the wood of the bed. The guitarist's hands grip his hips hard. He's rough, then goes back to being gentle as Roger can feel the warmth of his whole front along his back side. He sighs at the heat he feels in his chest and face as Brian leaves a trail of deep, tender kisses down his back.

Then Roger lets out a gasp when he feels small pains again; small, pleasurable pinches. He turns around to see the older man biting his cheeks, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin.

_Ah!_

Pinch, pinch. Then pleasure. Roger's entire body shudders, a strange sensation. Roger's face must be a deep red now. He's a bit embarrassed, but also feels something truly amazing.

He can feel Brian's tongue forcing itself inside him. He can feel as well as hear everything. He can hear and feel every stroke, every flick, every growl, feel the coat of saliva. Roger reaches a hand back to stroke Brian's curls and he doesn't know if he wants to push him away ( _You don't have to do that)_ or thank him or encourange him to keep going, to go deeper. He's never felt so desired.

Before he can think of what to do, Brian stops, rising up to look at the blonde with black-eyed lust, and Roger whimpers.

 

**V**

Freddie might have known before the farm house. Roger brought home lots of different people, and Freddie applied the make-up that covered all of their love bites, but Roger sensed that he had known when they were his love bites.

Maybe they were not as quiet or as discrete as they thought. But he really feels like Freddie would have just straight up asked them if they were fucking. He was so shamelessly blunt about everything else.

 

**VI**

Roger's grip on the wood of the bed tightens as Brian is completely sheathed inside him and ramming into him, going faster and harder with each thrust. The painful pleasure is so intense that Roger can only hold on and close his eyes, biting his lip and trying to hold back as much as he can.

_Mmmm._

_Fuck, yeah._

 

**VII**

Even though they pretty much all knew from the beginning, they were still all shocked when Freddie finally opened up about Mary leaving him (though he stubbornly refused to divorce her) and his sexuality.

It's just that he kept it to himself, away from them for so long. They shared everything. Or so they thought. 

Even though Roger was right about Fred, Brian's words still haunted him.

_There is always more to people than you think._

 

**VIII**

Brian suddenly stops. Roger is not done, but he is still in a state of bliss. When the older man pulls out - quickly, roughly - Roger feels that emptiness. But not for long. Brian's hand reaches for the blonde hairs again, gripping them in his fist. He pulls Roger's head back.

**_"Turn around."_ **

They go back to blankets on the floor. Brian forces Roger to face him, then lifts him up with that grip on his hips, and the blonde slides back on. 

_Aaaaaah._

There's a sighing kiss, then Roger descends back down onto the floor, his upper back and head resting as Brian keeps his grip on his hips, keeping his lower back up as he continues fucking him. 

He was strong for a skinny-ass vegetarian.


	6. Chapter 6

**I**

None of them are too happy about Freddie and Prenter shagging, and they are pretty vocal about that, but what can they do. I mean, no matter who they choose to shag or settle down with, they will always find a problem with them, really.

"It's a family thing," Brian always said.

Maybe there was more to Prenter. If Fred liked him, there must have been  _something_ about him, right?

"That, or Fred's just desperate," John sometimes piped. "Not too many people are open about being gay, so you don't know where to look."

"John, there are gay bars right down the street," Roger remembers snapping back, and they busted out laughing.

"You know what I mean, Rog," John then said, still hiccuping up some laughs. "Fred gets dreadfully lonely. He'll do anything to not be alone."

 

**II**

Brian's eyebrows rise when Roger shows them the cover for _Astounding Science Fiction,_ the one with the curious giant robot holding a bleeding creature. The concept is about a giant artificial intelligence not knowing how dangerous it actually is, all the while acknowledging that it is bothered or even saddened by these small creatures (humans) being hurt or killed by its hand.

The scariest part about it is that no one can stop it from continuing to hurt or kill more humans, too blind by their own terror in the first place to even try, and the AI seems to have the mind of a small human child that does not understand death yet.

"Oh, darling, I don't like that," Freddie immediately fusses, waving his hands and shaking his head, "not one bit."

"It's eyes look so sad," John adds.

Brian just nods, "Yeah, wow," eyes still set on the cover art, deep into thought and clearly more entranced than his small voice shows.

In all honesty, Roger showed them this because he knew Brian might like it. Something like this was too heavy for him, and he was pretty much on the same level as Fred about it, but he knew Brian was the one out of them that had the most interest in heavy metal and the darkness in general.

It took a lot of convincing to get Fred on the bandwagon of having this as the cover for their next album, who always preferred to keep things light and quaint. ("Our job is to give what the people want, and people look to us to make them forget about their stresses and woes. I just don't understand why people would pay with their hard-earned money to view something sad or scary or dreadful.") They were a four-person machine and it was only fair to let them all have their own tones or patterns, even if someone else did not necessarily understand. When thinking about that nowadays, Roger truly thought that was the downfall for a lot of band breakups. Bands nowadays typically wanted all of their members on the same ground, with the same process, and the same mood.

 

**III**

It was such a delight to meet up with the actual artist that painted that cover, and watch their new album cover slowly be made, replacing the bleeding soldier or other with the hurting or dying or dead bodies of themselves. Even Freddie loved it, but more because of the coloring and the textures, which were indeed very pleasing to the eye. The colors were quaint, at least.

It was a two-fold: angsty subject for the yin, pretty aesthetic for the yang.

 

**IV**

It certainly set the tone of "All Dead, All Dead".

Brian had been getting a little sentimental lately, getting a little teary-eyed thinking about Pixie. Sometimes Roger caught Brian staring down at an empty space on the sofa, fingers gingerly picking at an acoustic, like he was thinking about how she used to sit beside him. And with how much he thought about the cosmos, Roger wondered if Brian thought about the tiny soul of Pixie flying through the universe. But with how scientific and literal he was, Roger wondered if Brian even believed in the concept of a soul at all. With Pixie gone, he probably found himself conflicted, caught between the scientist and the spiritualist within, caught between viewing the creatures of Earth as walking and talking pieces of meat, to more complex beings with thoughts and feelings that had to have some sort of magic inside them that science was far from understanding.

Ugh. So depressing. Roger can't think about it too much.

Sure, Roger had gotten sad whenever his pets passed, but it was never at this level of intensity. He'd have a good cry and then get over it in a day or two. But with Brian, it was like he wasn't just mourning for one animal, but for all the dead animals of the world. Why did he make himself get so worked like this. He couldn't stand being just a little aloof? How could he breathe being so sensitive. 

 

  **V**

Roger can handle playing the fool in the studio, so long as Freddie is there, being a fool with him. But he could never be as outrageous as him, not even with something like his car song. Though it is still all in good fun, Roger takes the art seriously. He wants to get it all right, so he gets fussy. It's hard not to with something so tedious. But he likes how his fussing can sometimes make the others laugh, and it's not just an episode of pure frustration and annoyance for him and everyone else. It's probably his high, soft voice that does it. 

Here's Roger The Fuss Pot going on about how a sound is not coming out right, no matter how many fucking times they try. Then there is tall, brooding Brian, mimicking him in a nose-pinched voice. And then there is John and Fred at the back wall, laughing away at the Tall-Dark-And-Handsome and Tiny-Soft-Blonde bickering.

 

**VI**

Both of them knew from the moment that Roger walked onto that set that the day would end like this. The house is beautiful, and a part of Roger wishes that it were real. The colors are bright and give the illusion of a warm and cozy place, even if it was small and trapped in a dull city.

He wishes that the window he was told to pretend to look out of actually was real, and not just the illusion of a window, a faded sheet of glass with a bright lamp on the other side to make it look like the sun was shining. 

He gets so caught up in the daydream, though his hips were shaking to the beat of their song from the radio behind the camera, that he messed up the first time.

He can't help it. The others might feel absolutely ridiculous, even Freddie, but Roger finds that he really likes dressing as a woman. He likes feeling pretty and liked it when the crew called him "sweetheart" and "little miss", even if it was all for laughs. (Some of the crewmen gave him tenuous gazes, though; their eyes looking him up and down.)

When the director finally says "it's a wrap", and they all depart for the dressing rooms or their offices or go out for their lunch breaks, Roger lingers about slowly, not wanting to take the costume off just yet. Brian and him had gotten to the point where they could have hour-long conversations without even talking. While filming was going on, Brian and Roger looked at each other the entire time.

_I look ridiculous, but you. You look positively stunning._

_Oh, stop it._

_I'm serious. God, I want to touch you._

_Be patient._

_Normally, I consider myself a patient person, but you're really trying me._

_Trust me, I want you too. So bad. Just wait. Savor this moment, baby. Let's not rush. We may not be able to do this again._

_Says who._

_We can discuss that later._

_How would you like to have it?_

_I'll have to think about it. What about you._

_I want whatever you want. I'll get on my knees if you want it._

And sure enough, he did. Brian surprises him again. He had disappeared for a good bit after the wrap, and Roger later learned it was to get out of his own costume, have the hair people take that stupid roller wig off.

But Roger knew what he wanted.

_Wait for me. Don't undress just yet._

Roger doesn't know how long he sat alone in that dressing room. He actually did all of his make-up himself, and was the one that put on the wig. He told the costume people that he would undress on his own terms. He felt more comfortable that way. ("Just because you're a woman today doesn't mean you have to be shy like one," John joked.)

He sat in front of a mirror, applying an extra layer of gloss to his lips, when he suddenly felt arms wrapping around his waist, a warm nose and set of lips dive into the hip of his skirt, and heard (as well as felt) a hungry growl.

Roger gasps and is unable to jump up with Brian on his knees beneath him, back to his normal attire and his curls freed, arms around him and holding him down in his chair. It's still loose enough for Roger to fight out of, though. If he wanted out of it. But he didn't. 

Brian's pleading eyes and gaping mouth exhaling pleading sighs doesn't help: "You're so beautiful."

 

**VII**

Roger's thirties are pretty stable. Most people dread turning thirty, but Roger thought it was really awesome. A lot of people called thirty the "age of loneliness", but the seasonal emptiness he felt in his twenties were pretty much gone. Their financial situation was better, they all got their own homes and settled (well, all except for Freddie, who still held on to his precious Mary, even when he had affairs all the time and she only wanted him to continue on with his life), and Roger felt the most comfortable he had ever been at that point.


	7. Chapter 7

**I**

Like his homes (and lovers), Freddie's parties got bigger and wilder. If Roger were younger, he might have been one of the worst attendants. He would have been more than the life of the party; he would have been the crack baby love child, the one that made the party planner regret planning it, the one that would cost you the most money.

Roger didn't know how Fred still had orgies. In fact, the older he got, the more sexual he became, it seemed. More outrageous. It was probably the coke. He could fuck four guys in a row. 

 

**II**

"You're supposed to be in a rock band, Freddie, not the village people," Brian snapped back, and the guy is so bloody passive aggressive that you can't tell if he's making a laugh or if he's trying to push someone's buttons for once.

"Well, what about you? You ever think about cutting your hair one day, ever?" Freddie smiles, cleverly dodging Brian's open criticism of Fred's new (and unfortunately, most iconic) look. 

Brian is a typical party pooper, always had been. (He was usually the one that stood at the back wall quietly and awkwardly; hang around for as long as he could handle and then excuse himself. Roger had a number of memories of helplessly pulling at Brian's arms to no avail, trying to get him to join the crowd and dance with them.) But Roger had to agree with Brian on this one. And he's sure John did too. Prenter and him were looking so alike that it was seriously creepy. Just how controlling was this guy. (Whether or not Freddie ultimately choosing this look for life was because of Prenter or because he actually liked it was debatable. The rest of the world would carry on that look as iconic. For the guys, however, it still sometimes made them a tad bit sad thinking that this look might have been influenced by Fred's most toxic relationship.)

Roger shoots Brian a look:  _I don't want you to._

_Don't worry. Neither do I. If I cut it, it's just going to be the same, only shorter. And a lot more ridiculous looking._

"I was born like this." Again, it can either be taken as a joke, or taken literally.

It still makes everyone laugh.

 

**III**

Another wild party at Fred's. (God, how does he deal with such crowds. Where does he put his cats? Isn't he concerned about someone stepping or falling on them while shitfaced?)

Brian and Roger usually meet up before leaving back for home. This is pretty much the only reason they go to Fred's parties nowadays. This one meet-up is in the kitchen. It's surprisingly empty tonight. Then again, it was early in the morning, and half of the attendants either already called their cabs or passed out somewhere.

"Heading back?" Brian asks, and Roger can already tell from his voice, his small smile, and bashful eyes what he's thinking.

"Yeh." Roger glances down at his feet for a moment as he shyly laughs, thinking the same thing.

Even after all this time, his heart still pounds before it happens.

Brian leans down and Roger holds his breath. The kiss is instantly deep: burn, burn, burn: heat in the chest and face. It is still there, still as hot as when Roger was twenty. They tilt their heads at sharp angles to feel and taste the entirely of each other's tongues - hot and wet - their palms caressing their faces and serving as pillars for their tilted heads.

Then they break away, hints of saliva on the edges of their lips. It's always the hardest part: the agony of breaking away, enduring that sharp hunger to go further. Even if they wanted to, they know they can't. 

It's been like this for a long while now. All that they have done is have short secret meet ups like this to kiss and caress, and to kiss with such passion that it is just enough; enough until their next small meeting, that is.

They don't have the energy that they had when they were younger, which is fine. Great, actually. Trying to channel it all (drugs, parties, sex, fights, music) is what made Roger feel so empty then. What goes up comes down. They haven't done anything more than this in months, maybe a year. They might have one shag once every year or two, with maybe things involving just their hands, and their mouths in other places.

They do what they normally do after kissing. They keep their hands in their hair and the sides of their faces for a moment, just sighing and looking at each other longingly. Sometimes they won't look at each other, but close their eyes and get close enough to have their foreheads touching, feel their hairs and smell their scents. But that's risky. They need to always be alert for these times.

They are not in love. This is just the thrill of meeting in secret, the thrill of having knowledge of a bond that no one else knows about and will never understand. Not even Fred.

(Fred probably didn't even know. If he did, he might have thought it ended long ago. Fred was usually far from himself nowadays. He was almost always high on something, and they did not know whether to blame Prenter or Fred himself or both. It takes two to tango, after all.)

Surprisingly, it is Brian that breaks tradition. Roger's eyes widen as he feels those talented fingers slide down Roger's chest, stomach, and stop at his belt line, inching in between cloth and hot skin...

They can't do this. Not here. Not now. Brian was more sensible than this.

This is not love. This is not love. This is not love.

"Not here," Roger shies away, pushing at the hand. "We need to go home."

Brian's eyes are dark, his pupils nearly consuming the entirety of his iris.

Still, he nods. "Okay. Alright. Call me when you get home."

"Right."

 

**IV**

Roger already knew before it even happened. He knew because it was bound to happen, eventually; and he had been trying to prepare himself for it. Brian's marriage was not as well as it seemed, and there was really nothing wrong with it. That's what pissed Roger off. Chrissie was very good to Brian, but Roger figured he was getting bored, or he was having some kind of crisis. It tends to happen to men their age.

She had a radiant smile. It was her most outstanding feature, other than her fluffy hair, which was hilariously similar to Brian's (though she had to have work done on it, as Brian didn't) and if it weren't for the drastic height difference, you probably couldn't tell them apart at first glance. ("And you say Prenter and me are clones," Fred sometimes sassed.)

Anita was her name, and while Fred found her positively charming, he was critical, as family tends to be: "Really, Brian? An actress? It won't work, darling. Celebrity unions never last."

A boil of bitterness bubbled in Roger's stomach then. It was when he realized just how pathetic Brian was. 

 

**V**

"How could you."

"How could I?"

"How could you do that to Chrissie, to your kids."

"Do you think I'm stupid? You think I don't see you with that Debbie woman? You don't think I don't know what's going on there. Don't act like you're any better than me."

"At least I don't paint myself as some kind of saint, Mr. Americans-Are-Puritans-In-Public-And-Perverts-In-Private. Such a perfect English gentleman you are."

"At least I don't have jars of hearts."

_You slut. Don't you dare cast that stone._

The fire that consumes Roger's whole body is easily aroused, quick to flow through every nerve and vein, burning away any sense of humility and pity and sensitivity. He punches Brian so hard that his head nearly pops off, and the six-footer hits the wall. Brian is surprisingly quick to respond with a blow to Roger's head back. He at least expected him to quiver or to hesitate before throwing that move. But he still thinks that Brian could have hit him harder, like the part of him that still cared about Roger was holding him back. Considering how much bigger he was, he could really do a number on him if he really wanted to, really tried. It still hurt like hell, though.

Roger jumps and pounces at him. They stumble a bit, but not completely over. Brian is able to hold him off and push at Roger back. The blonde feels his backside slam against the wood of the table, Brian pinning his wrists to either side of his face.

Then Roger looked into Brian's eyes and that is when the anger in him died down. 

Brian looked heartbroken. Shattered. He was panting hard and his lips were quivering. Through the large, strong hands pinning him down, Roger can feel the pounding pulse of a devastated heart.

The hurt in Brian's eyes watered down the fire in him. 

_What have I done._

_I told you to watch yourself. I told you to keep your hands to yourself and not toy with people. People are more than pieces of meat._

Roger then quickly extends his neck to connect their lips and to kiss about as violently as they were rough housing a moment ago, forcing his tongue inside.  _I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it._ They bite at each other so hard that it's like they are trying to consume one another.


	8. Chapter 8

**I**

Roger wakes up sore and empty again. He fell asleep flat on his back and for a while, he just stares at the ceiling, not yet processing where he's at. Finally, he sits up and looks at himself in the mirror at the vanity across the room. He's shirtless, the sheets over his lap, and he assumes the rest of him is naked too. He cringes looking at his body. He's not as skinny as he used to be. He sees the teeth marks on his neck, the darkening bruise from the time they punched each other along his cheek, and the night before comes rushing back to him. He remembers them both being rough and tender, swinging between being shamelessly loving to bitter and resentful, whispering "I'm sorry" and "I love you" and "I hate you". He remembers how they kissed along their bruises softly, apologizing over and over. And as the kissing and strokes and grips commenced, the sex gradually became harder, possesive, hateful.

If they didn't fuck, they might start fighting again. And Roger was so confused. He didn't know if they fought because they needed to fuck, or they fucked in order to not kill each other.

_I started it. I shouldn't have punched you. You only did it because I did it._

_It was a misunderstanding. We're both in the wrong here._

He isn't sure why he didn't see Brian sitting over at the window sooner, staring out at the world with the exact same emptiness. The taller man is acting like he didn't hear him sit up. Roger looks the man up and down and he feels his heart warm and turn inside out. He didn't know if he was the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on, or if he was looking at the man who ruined his life.

 

**II**

A few days later, it happened again, and they woke up having the same talk.

"Roger," Brian starts, "we need to stop. We can't do this anymore."

Whenever Brian said this, sometimes Roger cried. The tears were instant, fast.

And Brian always softens at the sight: "Please. If we continue this, it will just hurt even more." When Roger looks up at the older man, his eyes are more often than not having gone red too. "This is not...this is not healthy. This is abuse. It's repeated madness. If we don't stop, we will ruin Queen. I want to go back to how we were years ago, when we first met in school. Wouldn't you rather have that? Not...not this. Anything but this."

Then Brian would leave and the next time they met up with John and Freddie, it was both scary and miraculous how they carried on normally. How it was like none of that muck ever happened.

Maybe they got over it because they spent their afternoons crying over that morning, letting it all out before getting down to business with the others.

Or maybe it was because deep down, they knew they would meet up again soon.

 

**III**

It's the same old story.

As Queen got more famous, the guys steadily grew apart. They used to live together, used to spend every waking moment together. But after touring together for so long and buying big houses of their own, maybe they slowly grew bored of each other.

Freddie sold out to go solo and kicked them to the curb. (But "going solo" was not actually going solo. It was kicking out his original bandmates and replacing them with other people.) John formed the Immortals, Brian played with Van Halen, and Roger went in and out of groups as well. But they did not completely expel one another from their lives. At least John, Brian, and Roger didn't. In fact, ever since Freddie ditched them, they seemed to grown close again, bonding over their hatred for Fred. How they could not believe it, but also were not surprised. How they could not forgive him. Sure, they wouldn't have gotten anywhere without Fred, but Fred wouldn't have gotten anywhere without them. Smile was the only band open to taking in an awkward, Indian boy with messed-up teeth. Anyone else would have just called him a "Paki" and told him to piss off.

 

**IV**

He wanted to believe that everything was fine and dandy, that they learned their lesson, overcame all the possible bad, and that they found their Happily Ever After.

But there was something wrong. There is always something wrong.

Fred's begging for forgiveness was too sudden and out-of-character. The three of them had their fun in teasing him, and in the end, perhaps they still forgave him a bit too quickly. But they liked that they were together again. Really. They had a burst of creativity: song after song after song, just like that. As easy as falling.

Hot Space might not have been as well recieved as their last few albums, but whatever. They had fun making it. And it wasn't like they completely ceased to play their old stuff for shows. It's just that Queen had phases. They did not like repeating the same patterns, the same formulas. 

Nearly every day was bright and productive, the four of them about as giddy and energetic as they were in the seventies, with everything as they should be - and yet, Roger would go to sleep in the evenings and have nightmares. Smiles and bright eyes by day, faces with black gaping holes for the eyes and mouths by night.

What was going on.

 

**V**

Roger had just woken up from his last nightmare when Deb came into their room to tell him good morning and that Fred had called him. "He was pretty insistent on you calling him as soon as possible," she added, eyebrows up.

Normally, he would roll his eyes, call him back and try to tell Freddie off. But this feeling - he couldn't shake it.

He has to watch his driving along the way, make sure the anxiety that seemed to have come out of nowhere doesn't send him speeding or making him lose focus and crash into something. When he pulls into Freddie's driveway, everything feels heavy. As he approaches the door, he feels like he is seeing the world through someone else, like he was a ghost that just possessed a body, or was standing on the other side of the physical world looking in.

The feeling goes away in an instant when the merry Freddie answers the door: "Nice to see you drop by, for once! Come in, come in."

No greeting hug. No platonic kiss to the cheek. Just a shoulder squeeze. 

It was just a little outlandish to Roger. When Freddie sold himself out to "go solo", he was the opposite of what he was now. Flashy. Touchy. Outrageously sexual. Pompous. When he came to them with his tail between his legs, the rest of them just quietly assumed it was because he wasn't doing so well, in a creative sense, or socially with the other guys. (Roger kind of cringed at his collaboration with Michael Jackson. The guy was a little weird to him. He wondered if Fred thought he was weird too.) He was very ashamed of himself when he spoke with them again. He was passive, even. Brian seemed to be the alpha then.  _Brian._ He apologized a lot, even for small things, like interrupting them when they spoke. Sorry, sorry, sorry. His charm was still present, but more in a humble or bashful way.

They did not mind that Freddie had gained some humility and was more bearable to be with. What they couldn't figure out was how and why. What made Freddie turn inside out. What made him take this one-eighty turn in personality.

And here was his most outstanding and most obvious change: his reluctance to get physically close or affectionate with them. Whenever they leaned in to hug him, Fred would shy away and instead give that squeeze on the shoulder. And his platonic kisses completely stopped. It was like he was almost _afraid_ to touch them. They really did not think Jim had anything to do with it. He was not the jealous or controlling type.

Also, the big, wild parties? They stopped too.

"Sit down, darling. What kind of tea would you like." Roger goes with it. He knows Fred is slowly warming him up to something.

Roger sits down on the couch in a living room that is way too big for it. When Fred sets the cups of tea down on the small table, Roger just asks it straight out: "Fred, is everything alright?"

Freddie blinks in surprise. "I..." He sits straight up and takes a breath, his eyes uncertain and down at the floor, battling with all the possible ways to answer in his head. "Oh, dear. I cannot think of any other way to say this." He coughs out a nervous laugh. "I had been planning it for years too."

"Years?"

"Roger, I...I've got it."

"Got what?"

"AIDS."

Roger cannot remember having some sort of strong reaction. Part of it was because he was not really informed much of the virus at all. Then again, no one really was. He just stared at Fred across the table, his mind blank. He did not know what to say.

"I was diagnosed before Live Aid."

"That was...five years? You've been sick for five years?"

Fred nods.

"You don't...you just don't seem sick at all." Part of Roger thinks that Fred must be joking. People with AIDS looked nothing how Fred looked. People with AIDS were skinny and pale and had ever-growing blisters all over them. "Are you sure it's that?"

"Yes. I've been having appointments early in the morning."

"Have you told the others?"

"Not yet."

"Why? Why me first?"

"You are very strong. Deaky and Brian...I know Deaky is sensible. He will find a way to carry on. But Brian, he's...he's unpredictable. He's so emotional. I worry about him."

Fred stops to look at Roger with the most seriousness he had ever seen in Freddie. This guy always played the clown for everyone's sake. He was the entertainer, the one that made you forget all what you wanted to forget. But right now, he was that Bulsara lad from long ago. He was a human being that looked liked he desperately wanted to tell him something, something of the utmost importance. Roger's gaze does not falter, showing that he is listening intently to what he has to say. It was clear now that this all wasn't a joke. Freddie leans in and places both palms on the small table between them.

"Please, Roger: look after Brian. He may fall into a depression. He may act out, against you and Deaky and everyone else. I just wanted to tell you to not get worked up if he does take it out on you. He won't mean it. He loves you so. He's always loved you."

Roger continues to stare at Fred. He doesn't really understand what he means by all this. And he's even more confused when he sees a smile creep up from beneath that moustache.

"To be honest with you," Freddie says, shyly, "back in the seventies, when you guys were in Smile - just you, Brian, and Tim - I had the biggest crush on Brian. I thought, 'Oh, I must have that man,' but then I realized that he was yours. And you didn't even know it yet."

"Brian, huh?" Roger smirks, thinking about their college days. "What about me?"

"I looked at you and thought: 'Oh! A long, lost sister!'"

"Oh, come on. I was not that girly looking."

"You totally were."

It felt so weird and just wrong to laugh and be light with such a conversation starter. It must have been the shock and denial.


End file.
